Utterly Ridiculous
by Boogum
Summary: Collection of Lukloe oneshots. Chapter 2: These Lips Are Dior. In which there's only one tube of Chloe's favourite lip gloss left, and some boy wearing dumpster clothes is trying to take it. Ridiculous. Utterly Ridiculous.
1. Utterly Ridiculous

Taking a break from the lovesquare for this fictober day because this pairing is calling to me in all its clashing, hilarious dynamic. I had to write it.

Fictober Day 17: "There is just something about them/him/her."

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**Utterly Ridiculous**

"Ridiculous," Chloe muttered. "Utterly ridiculous."

She should be out there helping Ladybug to fight the akuma and sentimonster. She was Queen Bee! Saving Paris was her job! But instead she had been shoved into this tiny room with some blue-haired, guitar-carrying weirdo who was—

Was he meditating?

"What is wrong with you?" Chloe snapped. "We're locked in this room, and you're acting like you're about to start doing yoga or unlocking your seven chakras."

Blue-Haired Weirdo opened his eyes. "Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of things out there," he said calmly. "We'll be let out when they're done."

Chloe pulled a face. He was useless. Utterly useless.

She whipped out her phone, but it still couldn't get reception. Ugh! This was infuriating. What was she supposed to do while she was stuck in here? She couldn't even call Daddy to complain.

A harsh twanging noise caught her ears. She glowered at Blue-Haired Weirdo, who was now holding his guitar and making some truly awful sounds.

"You don't actually call that music, do you?" she said, pointing her nose to the air. "You're about as talented as a slug trying to play a guitar, and at least the slug has the excuse of having no arms." She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. "Honestly, you should quit now, guitar boy. It's frankly embarrassing that you carry that instrument around with you as if you're some great musician. Your playing is an offense to the ears. "

"Luka."

"Huh?"

"My name is Luka."

She scrunched her nose. "Am I supposed to care?"

He shrugged and continued the awful tune.

Chloe's cheeks reddened. Why was he being so calm? How could he just shrug and keep playing when he sucked so much? Ugh! This boy was so annoying!

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. He was unfazed. That stupid blue-tipped fringe of his kept falling in his eyes and he had a relaxed expression on his face. Her lips twisted. So what if he was kind of cute? His clothes still looked as if he'd found them in a dumpster, and he was terrible at the guitar. Wasn't he in Rose's band? Ridiculous. They must be more awful than she'd thought, and to think her Adrikins had lowered himself into playing with them. Utterly ridiculous.

"What are you even trying to play?" she demanded.

"Your heart song."

She choked on her own phlegm. "Excuse me?"

He looked up, meeting her gaze with faintly amused blue eyes. "This is what I hear in your heart."

Heat bloomed on her cheeks and spread to the tips of her ears. The nerve! How dare he claim that awful, screeching thing as being the song of her heart! Obviously, he was trying to be rude and cover up the fact he couldn't play a tune.

"How dare you!" she exploded.

She went on a long rant, interspersed with many insults, but all he did was smile once she was done.

"Now your heart sounds like this," he said, and played a few even screechier notes, ones so grating she winced.

Ugh! This boy was driving her insane with his calmness and little smiles and horrible playing! Didn't he know who she was? Didn't he know that she was Chloe Bourgeois and the song of her heart would be something worthy of a royal symphony?

His expression changed slightly, becoming more pensive. "But, you know," he murmured, "I can hear something else. A few notes hidden deep down."

He strummed the strings, playing a soft, small tune. A little sad, a little vulnerable.

A little beautiful as well.

Her shoulders hunched and she looked the other way. "Huh. I guess you can play better than a slug."

"I just play what people express to me. All hearts have music to share." One corner of his mouth rose. "Even if it is an offence to the ear sometimes."

She rolled her eyes. "You do realise how ridiculous that sounds, right? Hearts don't have music. They're just organs that pump blood through your body, and if you think you're hearing something from them, then I'd say you're crazy."

He laughed. "You're a funny girl, Chloe Bourgeois."

Something fluttered in her stomach. Oh, he actually had a nice laugh. He looked cuter as well when his eyes crinkled like that. Warmth pooled on her cheeks, and she ducked her face, not wanting him to see her blush. He was just a nutcase who wore dumpster clothes anyway. Nothing to get flustered about.

He started to play a different song, one that was kind of sweet but with a certain spark as well. She perked up, shooting him glances out of the corner of her eye.

"Is this supposed to be another song of my heart?" she asked in a dry tone. (Just to make sure he didn't get any ideas that she was actually interested in knowing. Because she wasn't. She was just bored and trapped in this room with him, obviously.)

Luka's smile was much wider this time. Softer, too. "No. This is Marinette's song."

Once again, Chloe choked on her own phlegm. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

He nodded almost dreamily. "There's just something about her …"

Oh, ew. He liked Marinette. Chloe was almost tempted to blow a raspberry.

"You have terrible taste," she declared.

"I don't think so. Marinette is an amazing girl."

Double ew.

Chloe glared. "Well, play something else. I don't want to be stuck in this room with you while you play odes to baker girl."

He gave one of those little twitch-smiles again, but he did oblige her by returning to the second song he had given her. She went back to folding her arms and looking the other way.

Though she'd never admit it aloud, the song was kind of nice.


	2. These Lips Are Dior

this is all maddy's fault. she mentioned lukloe sephora meetcute (where they both reach for the last tube of their favourite shade). And I was like well I have to write it now

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**These Lips Are Dior**

There was only one task Chloé did not delegate. Not again. Not after the Great Gloss Bomb debacle. These lips were _Dior_. Perfect, pale pink _Dior_. She was very particular about that, thank you. She didn't care if there was none left of that shade. Where there was a will, there was a way. And she always got her way. Besides, the rabble should know that her lips were something they couldn't afford. Not to kiss. Not even to look at.

Chloé marched into Sephora, designer handbag swinging from her forearm and her hair impeccable. Sabrina should have been trotting at her heels, but the idiot had the nerve to get sick. Honestly, as if those blubbering apologies were actually worth anything. Hello, Chloé needed someone to carry her shopping bags, not shed tears at her over the phone. It wasn't like she could always depend on Jean Whatever-His Name-Was. (He claimed he had hotel duties. Like that mattered.)

There was a beep from her phone. She removed it from her bag, pursing her lips at Sabrina's message.

"How is promising to do my homework supposed to make it up to me?" Chloé said, rolling her eyes as she headed for the _Dior_ section. "You already do my homework."

Ridiculous. All of them were ridiculous.

She slipped her phone into her bag and reached for the lip gloss she wanted—the last on the shelf. A hand brushed hers, closing around the gloss before her.

Her eyes narrowed. "Hands o—oh."

Chloé blinked. A boy. A cute one at that. Gorgeous blue eyes. Delicate features. Then the bubble-like sheen of prettiness popped and she noticed his tackily-dyed blue hair and dumpster fashion clothes. Never mind.

"Hands off," she ordered.

Not growled, of course. She would not demean herself to such a level. This boy was so far below her notice that he might as well be a pebble in her path. A mere flick would have him gone.

He smiled nicely. "I'm sorry, but I did grab it first."

A snort escaped her. The pebble was trying to argue? Let alone talk to her? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

"Listen up, Five Euros," she said, raising her chin. "This is _Dior_." She looked him up and down, scorn dripping from her gaze. "You're clearly lost in the wrong section."

He raised his eyebrows. "Five euros?"

She swept at his clothes with her hand. "Need I even explain?"

"Ah." He nodded, biting on his lip with an odd expression. Not upset. Not intimidated. It was just thoughtful, like he was considering her words as one might a new flavour of chocolate. And, of course, she was not distracted by that little lip bite at all. Nope. Even if his lips looked impossibly soft.

Though she did wonder if there was something wrong with his head. Had he hit it too much as a child? Was he just born this way? There was no reason for him to seem so relaxed. Obviously, he should be running away in shame by now. Maybe apologising for wasting her time. At the very least, he could hand over the gloss. It wasn't like he could afford it.

"Right," he said calmly. "Well, I grabbed the lip gloss first, so I'll be leaving now."

Chloé's jaw dropped. "Excuse me. Have you not heard anything I've said?"

"Oh, I heard you." He smiled again—sweet and mild. Just a dip of honey. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm not lost. This is the one I want."

"But it's the one _I_ want."

"Mmm. Unfortunate."

He sounded genuinely apologetic, but that meant nothing to her. There was no way she was going to let him take what was hers.

"I don't think you understand," she said, her left eye twitching. "I'm Chloé Bourgeois."

"So?"

"S-so?" Heat formed in splotches on her cheeks. "I'm the mayor's daughter. You have to do what I say."

He shrugged. "I don't see why."

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Then she straightened, glancing around in haughty resolve. This pebble was proving more annoying than expected. "That's it," she muttered. "Where's a shop assistant? I'll call Daddy and—"

"Ah, yes," The Absolutely Not Cute Pebble said with one of those mild smiles. "Perhaps they have another one in stock for you."

Her eye twitched even more. "You think I'll let you have this gloss, the one _I_ reached for?"

He leaned forward so his face was closer to hers. Her treacherous stomach dared to flutter.

"Well, Chloé Bourgeois," he said in a low tone of velvet and amusement, "that's kind of how it works since I'm the one holding it."

He turned away, calm and unruffled.

The nerve of him!

"Hey!" she said, marching after him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To the counter."

"You stop this instant."

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing one of those sweet but ruffling smiles. "Relax. You can always order one in if they don't have it in stock."

"Or-order one in?"

Words failed. This boy really had no idea who he was messing with. Well, she would educate him soon enough.

She planted her hands on her hips. "What's your name?"

His eyes met hers, a shock of blue and secret smiles. She faltered, shifting on her feet.

"Luka," he said.

Luka.

She would never understand why she let him pay for the lip gloss and leave the shop. All she knew was that her heart didn't want to beat at the right rhythm, stumbling and stuttering in her chest as bad as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It was embarrassing. It was unsettling.

It was best left forgotten, even if a part of her did hope that she met Luka again.


End file.
